Batman, Earth 900 (AU story)
by Shien the Sea Doggo
Summary: Meet Arthur Wayne, the newest and baddest Bat. He's new, and he's learning, so come with him in his story to do the cowl proud.
1. Chapter 1

Teaser Chapter

Hello all. So, I suppose I should explain this. This story could be considered somewhat groundbreaking for one main reason. I have given this Batman a handicap, possibly the biggest Batman has ever had to face.

After seeing so many interpretations of the dark knight, I realized that any person who writes as him or does a movie about him, they can just explain everything with his wealth or his impressive gadgets. That's how he paid for the fancy suit and the fancy tech and all that, and that same tech allowed him to hack every phone in Gotham and create a sonar map of the entire city in _The Dark Knight,_ let him create a massive suit to go toe to toe with Superman in _The Dark Knight Returns,_ and allowed him perhaps the most god-modded suit of armor the world has ever seen, known as the Hellbat. With all these toys and all this cash, I couldn't help but wonder if Batman could maintain his old code of honor without his tricks and trades. So, I decided to go some where that no other Batman has gone before… At least to my knowledge.

In this AU Batman story, I'm making Batman poor. Lower, lower class guy. Not only that, but I'm creating my ideas for villains and sidekicks and the like. This first chapter is more or less a trial run to see if anyone is even interested in this kind of Batman. Be warned, this teaser is a slap in the face to what I just said. This will show Batman in his prime, AKA, 30's to 40's where he's got everything figured out and is completely prepared. It is only to draw you in, and see if you, the fans, are at least interested in this type of Batman. So, without further ado, meet Batman, Earth 900.

The rapid clicking and clacking of the keyboard perforated the small area of the room. A white screen illuminated a pale, handsome face with a strong jaw. He brushed blond bangs out of his face as he studied the recent news. Yadda yadda, Gothcorp has a new president, Barbara Gordon in the lead to be commissioner. He shrugged, seeing almost nothing of interest in the news.

Given how much Vicki Vale bloated every report, he was genuinely surprised that some purse snatcher wasn't thrown around the news as some Joker cult following. But he found nothing. Nothing at all. His hip vibrated and he pulled out his cell phone. A message from a certain female lit up his screen, and his lip curled into a grimace.

 _Hey Arty. You free? I know you got enough money for a night out. If you spoil me, maybe I'll pay it off._

Arthur Wayne tapped his desk in contemplation. On the one hand, good god was it tempting.

"But on the other hand..." He muttered.

"Something could happen." He typed a message back.

 _Can't. Working._ The reply came quickly.

 _My ass._ Arthur sighed, and shook his head. She was probably pissed. Well, she could be pissed, he had a city to protect.

His phone buzzed again, and his eyebrows furrowed slightly. She had sent another message, and he sighed. He opened the message, expecting some sort of chewing out. What he got instead made him frown.

 _Looks like I'll have to have a different night out then._ Arthur cocked an eyebrow. Did she really mean…?

 _Selina… What are you doing?_ The reply seemed so quick he almost thought she had it written in advance.

 _Suit up and you'll figure it out. ;)_ Arthur groaned and stood up.

"She really knows what to do." He admitted, and then picked up some keys. He was already dressed in tight under armour and jeans.

Soon, he was outside and walking into his car. He had picked the perfect apartment for his… Practices. Why? Because he was only 20 feet away from the storage houses. He sped up to the end of the lot, to the last four garages.

He couldn't help but grin at his own cleverness. Buying all four of the last garages under different names. He opened the first door on his right and parked the car in the first garage, nodding in satisfaction as the garage door cut out all outside sound.

The minute the door closed however, his demeanor changed. His normal smile and light blue eyes changed completely, His brow deepened in eternal thought, and his lips curled into a frown. His eyes had immediately shifted into pale, icy blue lakes from Alaska; eyes that could pierce anyone's soul.

His shoulders stiffened, back going as straight as a metal bar. It seemed that he became a tower of power and dominance.

Now comes the part you're all waiting for. He moved to the wall between his other garages and this one. His hand graced over the wall and suddenly, it stopped as he found a small crack. With a grunt of effort, he pushed on the crack and almost the entire wall gave way. He had taken it out years ago, and replaced it with a lighter material. He grinned as, with this trick, he had access to all four garages in one. The room he emerged into was a work-out room, full of massive weights and salmon ladders.

He passed over those as well, exiting to the third room.

If the second garage was a gym, then this was the armory. He looked to his right and was greeted by the familiar sight of guns on the wall. There were 10 in total: Two pistols, two shotguns (One a pump action, the other a fully automatic), 3 different types of machine guns, a sniper rifle, a grenade launcher, and finally, a rather special custom gun given to him by his associates. It was a gun that fired gel explosives. He looked under the guns to see mountains of rubber bullets and grenades, flashbangs and riot grenades. There was a wooden cabinet next to the false wall, in which he traveled to first.

His hands reached out, and opened the biggest doors on it. He was faced by a black mask. Blank eyes and pointy ears faced him, and Arthur, in spite of his cold and blank face, suddenly grinned.

With the twirl of a cape, he was dressed.

Arthur Wayne had decked himself out in only the finest of crime fighting gear. Starting from the feet, he had calf high, thick-as-shit combat boots, decked out with steel toes. A kick from one of those could go clear through a house.

His suit was generously donated from a certain arms dealer and always gave him goosebumps when he slipped it on. A modified, extremely custom style of dragon scale armor, the likes that private companies make, with a red colored steel bat symbol gracing the chest. The insides of the armor were composed of overlapping scales of bulletproof material under light kevlar. It was perfect for moving fast, and even allowed easy movement. The Bat symbol itself was of a bat in flight, wings outstretched as if it were attacking. He rolled his shoulders as the armor moved with him. He then buckled on his utility belt, and the accompanying straps and guns holsters to his thighs.

He slipped two magnums into their holsters as he put on thick, steel knuckled gloves. Spikes adorned the forearm.

Finally, he grabbed the full helmet. It broke apart in several places to fit onto his head easier. First came the bottom of it, the neck portion that he fitted around his throat. He clasped them together as he looked around, making sure he still had full range of motion for his neck. After all, he certainly wanted to be able to turn his head to see an attack coming. Next came the chin and back of the head, which connected at the top of his neck. Finally, the sides of the head and top came, all clasped together with hydraulics. It took him several, high profile arms deals to get hardware like that. He rolled his shoulder again, and finally threw what looked like a rubber-ish cape onto his shoulders and clasping it on small hooks to make sure it didn't fall off by accident. Only if he wanted it to. The last step was loading his belt with a razor sharp knife and several types of explosives. He looked about ready to fight a war.

With it all done, he slipped through the final wall and beheld the perfect car for these people. In truth, he had built it from absolute scratch. Well, him and several members of his little gang. A bulletproof windshield revealed a steering wheel and two seats. One for the driver, the other for the passenger.

Outside, the car was encased in some of the thickest steel you could imagine. For god knows what reason, he had personally shaped it in the shape of a futuristic sport's car, with a long hood to hide an impressive engine, and with an engine like this car was packing, perhaps that was justified.

The windshield peeled back, and he stepped into the car before turning the engine, and opening the garage. Batman couldn't help but grin under his helmet as he hit the gas and threw out the brake, speeding off at easily illegal speeds. He hit a communicator on the dashboard and soon, the Commissioner himself answered his phone.

"What is it Batman?"

"Any reports of a break in? Maybe at a jewelry store or art gallery?"

"That obvious? We've just had a big break in at the Plaza. We think it might be Catwoman." Gordon would hear Batman sigh over the line.

"Go ahead and pull your men back. She's just doing this to drag me out."

"How's it feel to have a crazy cat lady pinin' for you?"

"Be better if she didn't just do it cus she's bored."

"Women." Jim agreed, and then Batman ended the call, speeding down the streets towards the Plaza, and hopefully, to stop Selina before she punished him too badly for denying her. He rolled his eyes when he realized how childish that would sound to anyone else as he floored the gas, going past the triple digits as he passed apartment after apartment, turning past street after street.

His headlights were on full blast, illuminating his way as he arrived in no doubt record time, spinning his wheels into a halt.

Batman opened the windshield and walked out, locking the car as he walked towards Jim, towering over him.

"She still in there?" He asked through his helmet.

A microphone made that possible.

"Yeah, as far as we can tell. But I guess you'd tell us better right?" Batman nodded and walked up the stairs.

"Keep your men outside. I don't wanna scare her off." He ordered, coming to a stop in front of the glass doors. He slammed an elbow through the door and unlocked it before strolling in like he owned the place. He rose his hands above his head, unblinking eyes scanning around for her.

"Selina… You got my attention." He said, and he would hear an echoing laugh.

"You look so scary with those red eyes." Came the reply, and he could almost hear the wink emoticon.

Batman decided to play her game.

"Gives you goosebumps?" He asked, looking around further.

"Totally. So, I gotta question Bats."

"Shoot." He replied.

"Why are you prioritizing me over all the _work_ you had?" Batman sighed.

"Something _could've_ happened Selina." He stated.

"Something _did_ happen. Me, robbing a bank. And who's fault is that?" She replied.

"You?" Batman asked sweetly.

He then heard footsteps behind him and spun around, before running after it.

"You're not very fun sometimes." She said with a pout evident in her voice, and he frowned.

"Gotham doesn't need me to be fun."

"Gotham is a God. Damn. City, Bats." She muttered, and Batman blinked. Was she actually mad?

Sudden footsteps lead him up the stairs further, and up to the roof. Finally, when he opened the door to the roof, he saw Catwoman finally. She was looking away from him, up at the sky.

"Arty…" She said and turned around to look at him.

"You gotta quit sometime." She said, walking towards him.

"What is this Selina?" He asked, folding his arms. She was acting so obviously different now. Gone was the flirtatious kitty cat. Now she was… Selina. She walked towards him further, slipping her hands over his shoulders.

"You said you wanted to… To rehabilitate me… Well, maybe I want to try." She said, swallowing. Batman only frowned.

"Why?" He challenged, not believing it for a second. For a second, Catwoman showed a flash of anger before she took a deep breath.

"Arty… Are you really gonna make me say it?" Batman folded his arms, waiting for an answer. Catwoman sighed.

"Because I want to be with you."

End.

Let the rage begin. So seriously, if you want to see more, comment and stuff. Also, be sure to critique anything you see. I'm just trying to get better, and Batman is like, my favorite guy for interpretation. Also, one thing I really want is the opinion you guys have on Batman and Catwoman's relationship that I showed. Mainly in, does it feel right? Are you convinced?


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter 1.

2:10 A.M In Gotham. In November. If the goons weren't paid a lot, most of them probably wouldn't have shown up.

On one side of a massive warehouse near the docks, a padlocked door was clipped with bolt cutters. Then, two men, dressed in big blue parkas with a familiar bird shaped insignia on the sleeve, both gripped either side of the massive metal doors, seperating them to the sound of grunts and screeching metal.

The doors were not opened all the way, rather, only enough for the men to fit in one at a time, so shimmy through the doorway they did, weapons and gear often caught on rusted metal. With enough effort and cursing, they managed to all get in, and one after the other, they donned night vision goggles.

No flashlights were brought; they'd attract too much attention to anyone who happened to be around the docks at the same time.

Unfortunately for the men though, a few men did notice. Dressed in dark clothing and one black mask each, the men revealed weapons.

Shotguns, uzi's, even a few simple handguns were produced from pockets and rose boxes as they advanced on the same warehouse.

"Looks like our mole pulled through." One man said, only to be shushed immediately as they inched their way through the same metal doors that the Penguin goons had used just a few moments earlier. No sounds were made, so Black Mask's men moved towards the apparent victims. But the problem? One of the villains, one of their boys, one that they didn't quite recognize, had vanished.

Meanwhile, the penguin goons, lead by a seasoned gangster, a man who would die for the man known as Oswald Cobblepot, made their quiet way through the rows of boxes on stacks. He pulled out a phone, lifted up his goggles, and checked the last text he had received.

It contained the name of the crate they were looking for. After passing row after row, they finally found it. Their leader grinned as he moved close, and found another padlock.

"Jesus." He mumbled, and then reached his hand out.

"John. Gimme those bolt cutters." He ordered.

Anger quickly boiled in his gut when no bolt cutters were placed in his hand.

"JOHN!" He hissed, turning around. The other Penguin goons looked around, searching for John.

But John was nowhere to be found. No bolt cutters, no gun, no Goggles, No John.

And that exact moment was when the Black Mask gang found them.

Penguins men had the superior fire power, but Black Masks men had the drop on them. They got the first few shots, and those first shots paid dividends, even if they didn't have the crucial night vision goggles. Two men fell from the hail of bullets, the sound echoing off the metal walls of their battlefield.

The timetable of a pair of eyes, now equipped with a borrowed pair of goggles, had suddenly moved up. Pulling out his own gun, the dark figure from above positioned the handgun over his black forearm, and opened fire. 6 shots, 6 poor souls hit the ground, all grasping at their legs in intense pain. Bruises were already forming from being hit from a rubber bullet fired from a 45 magnum.

The hail of bullets all but stopped on one side, and the shooter was on the move.

Meanwhile, Penguin's men, down two goons, were looking for blood. They never wondered why they suddenly stopped shooting, or why their enemies were suddenly on the ground, gripping one leg each.

Most just assumed that one of their friends had gotten off a lucky shot. So, the remaining 5 men ran for them, only to freeze right in their tracks as some black, shapeless mass suddenly landed right in front of them, and then, they saw nothing as an emergency flare lit up the warehouse, effectively blinding any poor soul with night vision.

The figure who activated the flare had abandoned his, and charged for them, not expecting any sort of real fight. The closest man didn't see a thing as a fist barreled into his nose, snapping it, while his hand was snatched by what felt like two vices, and he felt his feet leave the ground, and then his back connect with something hard and wooden moments later.

Anyone who could see, or cared to focus on the figure instead of their leg wounds, would notice the ease in which the man in black dealt with Penguins group, seeming to spin an elbow into the gut of the second man, before flipping him over one black shoulder, and snapping his arm at the elbow. Then, he showcased immense strength by picking up the battered man and throwing him into the remaining three criminals.

Relatively unharmed, the three blind men desperately tried to lift their friend off of them so they could run like hell. Searing pain would suddenly hit them as they felt what they were certain was a knife blade in each of their hands.

"KEEP YOUR HANDS UP!" A deep, angry voice shouted at them, causing them to whimper, and follow his instructions. He put goggled back on once the flare faded, and looked around.

To his trained eyes, every hostile was down for the count. So, he grabbed each weapon or piece of equipment they had, and placed them into a corner.

Then, the nearly invisible being marched to the crate in question, studying it.

He noticed the padlock on it, and pulled out his gun.

The magazine popped out before he replaced it with a different clip, one that housed real bullets. Then, he fired, shooting off the padlock, and opening the crate with ease.

His eyes widened momentarily as he spied 6 rocket launchers, lying in the long crate.

"Dammit." He growled, and gathered all of them into his arms, before setting them down on the pile as well.

He then grabbed one of the criminals phones before dialing 911.

"Yes hi, I'm out by the docks, and I heard a lot of shooting around warehouse 41. Please send help, I think people are getting hurt!" He then hung up, grabbed a pair of goggles, one of the assault rifles, and a shotgun before heading for the exit. That is, until a bullet tore through his leg.

He cried out in real pain as he fell, dropping all of the booty that he earned from a job well done.

But, he had no time to waste, as he had no idea where the shooter was, so he rolled for all he was worth to his right, and hid behind the car that the Penguin goons had driven in.

The figure could clearly bleed as he rested against the car, staring at the blood pouring out of the leg wound. So, he ripped cloth from his shirt, and tied it tightly enough to cut off blood circulation.

He grunted each time the knot tightened, and then, satisfied that the wound wouldn't bleed out, he looked around.

Given that he hadn't been shot yet, he figured that the van was blocking the shooter's view.

What's worse, he had dropped he night vision goggles. He wouldn't be able to see the shooter even if he had the chance to return fire. So, he grabbed the second of his two flares, lit it, and threw it straight up.

Then, he ran for it, staying low, limping like his leg may as well have been missing.

Thankfully, the flare, designed to distract the man, did it's job, because soon, he was far enough to stop running.

His shoulder hit a wall, and he groaned in pain again.

He yanked the mask off of his head, revealing a blond man, pale from pain, gritting his teeth so hard that he was certain they were gonna crack from abuse.

He allowed himself a minute or two to rest and register the pain, taking in deep gulps of air to slow his heart rate down.

It wasn't long before it finally did, and he shuddered again as the hole in his leg radiated across his entire body, beating his brain over and over again.

But, it was nothing he hadn't been through before. So, he limped 4 miles to a somewhat less crummy part of town, and limped another mile at the most to get to his building. By the time he crashed onto his awful bed, the sun was close to coming up, and he was about to cry from exhaustion.

However, his job still wasn't done. In fact, this was going to be the worst part.

Because he walked into the bathroom, pulled out a surgical clamp, stripped from his suit, and dug into the small bullet hole to find the sucker. It wasn't long before he did, but it felt like ages, and he yanked it out.

His nightly ritual ended with him stitching the wound, bandaging it, and falling down on his bed again.

He fell asleep in pain as the sun was coming up.

His first day on the job went about as well as he thought it would.


End file.
